Boomer Steele is big. He’s bad. He’s the Retribution MC pres. He’s been dealt the worst hand imaginable and bears the scars inside and out. Not that anyone knows it. He’s watched his younger brother and sister hook up and hitch up with the loves of their lives, and now he’s the last Steele standing alone. Maybe he should keep it that way.

Then one feisty honey makes him feel, gets in his grill, pisses him off.

She goes by the name of Rayce. And that’s exactly what she does on her motocross bike when she’s not busy getting her hands dirty with her fellow grease monkeys as the only female mechanic at Stone’s Garage. She’s into fixing bikes, racing hers, and making Boomer’s life a living hell just for the fun of it. Oh, and she hates being treated like a girl.

Sparks flying? That’s an understatement where these two are concerned. Yet when Rayce needs a place to live, and Boomer offers her a room in his house, their unquenchable attraction wins out over antagonism. Sometimes. Rayce’s crappy upbringing makes her think love is for stupid fools asking for heartbreak. She’s not willing to go there for any man. Not even Boomer Steele.

The bigger they are, the harder they fall.

I waited an amount of time that almost did my head in. The idea of Rayce, in the same house, half-dressed . . .

I climbed the stairs. They were so delicate and fucking dainty I felt like a giant. At the landing, I hooked left, and immediately ran into Rayce exiting the bathroom on a cloud of total hotness.

The hallway was so small she banged up against me, but not before my eyes spun with the vision of her in a dress, and my tongue must’ve rolled out cartoon-style.

“Boomer!” She spread her palms across my chest where my heartbeat thundered.

She had on some sort of number that ended just above her knees, and it was curve-hugging until it flared at the skirt. The gray and cream pinstriped dress with a deep red belt looked vintage, classy, and I just didn’t have enough mother-lovin’ adjectives to describe it. A floral pattern overlaying the stripes echoed the charcoal-colored tats on her arms. Her tits overflowed the top. Her hips rounded out below the slim waistline. And her legs?

Shit.

Fishnet stockings. And, for the first time, high heels. Make that ankle-length black leather high-high-high heeled boots with metal designs on the toes.

Her perfume dazed me.

Her dress goddamn amazed me.

She snapped her fingers in front of my face. “You in there?”

“You’re wearing a dress.”

Genius, Boomer. You are truly a genius.

Rayce pivoted around, astoundingly graceful. The skirt flipped up to reveal seams on the backs of her stockings. “Like it?”

Liked it so much I was considering banging her against the bathroom door. “Yeah.” I rubbed a hand over my mouth. “You could say that.”

Then she did something entirely feminine, a side of her I’d never truly seen before, and performed a little twirl that lifted the skirt up her firm thighs before she stopped in front of me, her face glowing.

I started sweating, right then and there. “Jesus. You’re gonna give me a heart attack.”

“Serves you right, old man.”

“I wanna be your old man.” Growling, I scooped her into my arms. “Been missing you.”

I wouldn’t say I was at an impasse with Rayce, but I’d hardly seen her in several weeks. That was going to end tonight, after I watched Hunter either crash and burn or end up a happily married man.

My lips slid up the curve of Rayce’s neck, and her skin tasted like hot womanly sweetness. I licked the shell of her ear, ghosted to the corner of her mouth, and touched the point of my tongue against the seam of her lips.

She parted them with a gasp.

I looked down at her with heavy eyelids, our mouths separated by just a breath of space. “Been dreaming about kissing you. Feeling your lips on mine.”

“Chrome and Steele mixed with grease and a tomboy mechanic that rides a motorcycle…what about that scenario doesn’t get the blood pumping? Once again the amazingly talented Rie Warren creates a world of alpha male deliciousness, humor and sizzling heat with her latest in the Carolina Bad Boys series.” ~Twin Sisters Rockin’ Book Reviews

“I've been following the Bad Boys of Retribution MC series and was looking forward to Boomer's story. Being a big fan of Rie Warren books, I will read anything she writes. I was very excited and surprised to discover that even though this book is from the Carolina Bad Boys series, the main character is the President of Retribution MC andhe's a Steele brother. I'm so glad I didn't accidentally miss out on it by getting my series mixed up. The characters in both series seem to be overlapping and intermingling and it's a win/win for all.” ~Rosa from iScream books

The Tattooed Moose was no more than a noisy, loud, crowded wood shack with a tiny front porch just on the wrong side of the tracks in downtown Chucktown.

Romance?

Maybe not. But the food was un-freakin’-believable.

It was a little quieter on the porch than in the bar, so I snagged the first empty table and got Rayce settled in her seat before I moved mine right next to her. Large outdoor heaters spaced between the tables fought off the January chill.

“This okay?” I reached for her hand and rubbed across her knuckles, smiling when I noticed the engine oil she hadn’t quite managed to scrub off.

“Is there beer and food?”

“Some of the best of both, I guaran-damn-tee it.”

“Then it’s okay by me.” Pulling my hand up to her face, she gently licked and kissed the center of my palm.

I kid you fucking not, the feel of her lips made my cock go full throttle just like that.

This softer side of Rayce was something else.

The seductive side?

Goddamn hypnotic and horny as hell.

I returned the favor of turning her on by licking and nuzzling her neck while we waited for our orders. I was bound and determined to give her that orgasm tonight. Hopefully in my bed, but I could work it out in the truck, or hell, even in the nearest deserted alley.

Rayce moaned under her breath when I bit down on her earlobe, and I decided that would do for now.

She looked at me with wide, dazed, dazzling eyes. She hadn’t even noticed the beers had arrived.

Job well done on my part.

I pecked her on the lips then lifted my glass.

She broke out of the sex-spell and muttered a low string of words I didn’t quite catch but went along the lines of evil man . . . all worked up . . . sits there smirking.

Then she clinked my glass with a, “Bottoms up.”

“We can get to that later too, if you want.” I took a glug of beer.

She choked on hers, hitting me on the shoulder.

After she managed a swallow without spewing beer across the table, she turned to me. “How can you just say stuff like that?”

“Because I’ve been thinking about it?” I shrugged.

“But I haven’t—” She shook her head and lifted her drink again.

I scooted closer and whispered in her ear, “Haven’t had a hard cock inside your perfect ripe ass?”

She shivered as my lips caressed her earlobe, and she swallowed hard.

“I’ll take that as a no.” Laying my palm on her thigh, I skimmed up it until I butted the center seam of her jeans. “Some women think it’s really hot, especially with the piercings. Really gets ’em going.”

Her nose skimmed my cheek as she turned her head. Her lips nearly collided with mine. “And just how many women have you done it with?”

“Well, that doesn’t matter, princess, because none of them mattered.” That may have sounded crass but it was true. I’d had my fair share of fucks—none of them lasted.

My lips brushed hers. “But you matter, make no mistake about it. It’s just a thought if you wanna give it a shot. I’d make sure you like is so much you come crawling back for more.” Sitting back, I crossed my arms over my chest, my big thighs spread in obvious invitation.

All for her and only her.

She stared at me, her cheeks growing more and more flushed until, groaning, she buried her head in her arms.

I gave a rough low laugh, reaching over to caress the back of her neck and the tiny buttercup tat.

She peeked out at me. “You’re a very naughty man.”

“Your naughty man.” I kissed her cheek and she sat up with a huff.

Rie is the badass, sassafras author of Sugar Daddy and the Don’t Tell series–a breakthrough trilogy that crosses traditional publishing boundaries beginning with In His Command. Her latest endeavors include the Carolina Bad Boys, a fun, hot, and southern-sexy series. A Yankee transplant who has traveled the world, Rie started out a writer—causing her college professor to blush over her erotic poetry without one ounce of shame. Not much has changed. She swapped pen for paintbrushes and followed her other love during her twenties. From art school to marriage to children and many a wild and wonderful journey in between, Rie has come home to her calling. Her work has been called edgy, daring, and some of the sexiest smut around. You can connect with Rie via the social media hangouts listed on her website https://www.riewarren.com. She is represented by Saritza Hernandez, Corvisiero Literary Agency. http://www.corvisieroagency.com/Saritza_Hernandez.html